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In the middle of the California badlands is the unique art community of east Jesus. It is an ever growing and changing work of art created from discarded and recycled items. The residents/managers of east Jesus live completely off the grid, it is considered “the last free place in America” there is no law and it costs nothing to live here.
: @nicolasmoscarda .
: Niland, California .
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May 21, 2019. Woke up to three inches of frozen mashed potatoes threatening both the burgeoning plant life and my own sunshine-starved heart with its cold, oppressive weight. The poor branches of the newly fledged chokecherry trees were bent almost to the breaking point under the crushing load of spring snow.
As the day wore on the temperature remained stubbornly just below freezing and the forecasted rain fell in large, fluffy wet flakes, slowly covering our green mountain world with a cumbersome blanket of white.
Out in the garden our tender seedlings hunkered down under the mounds of straw Zach and I had piled up over the freshly planted beds while the chickens likewise holed upside the warm safety of their coop.
Back inside the cabin we once again shuttered the windows against the cold and stoked the fire with our dwindling supply of wood.
Days like today demand copious amounts of comfort food and so I made a savory broccoli cheese soup with garlic bacon biscuits for supper. It went down fast and easy and bowls were licked clean.
Finally, bellies of both human and beast were sated, the kitchen tidied and a rascally baby bathed, powdered and jammied. The cabin lights extinguished and the little house blended into the dark of night that had settled across the mountain. We crawled under double woolen layers, snuggled in like sleepy bears and dreamt of a warm and sunny springtime as more snow drifted down outside.
Ben has been hard at work on a few bus upgrades this spring: pantry storage, foot of the bed bookshelf and storage, electrical tweaks and radiator repair. You’re never really “done” are you?! Three years in and there’s still improvements that can be made. I’ll share photos soooon, sorry I’ve been less than great at posting regularly lately. ♀️ UPDATE: We’re spending the summer living and working in New England. Come visit us! If you saw our stories you caught what our new summer project vehicle is! More on that 1990’s beast soon... ✌️
☀️❄️Every May, there’s an age-old battle that is waged upon the mountain. The battle between Old Father Winter and Maiden Spring. For a while it always seems as if the crafty old timer will win the day with his ruthless cold and killing ways.❄️ But then, slowly but surely, the sweet and gentle Maiden coaxes out the sun, the days grow ever longer and burgeoning green growth bursts forth. Soon, where glacial icebergs used to squat heavy upon the land, a riot of hardy fawn lilies take root and the sweet scent of springtime wafts in through opened windows as tiny buttercream blossoms unfurl
And what better way to encourage the Maiden to stay than to tempt her with the twinkling bells of baby giggles amidst the busybody clucking of a gaggle of hens? Or perhaps with plump little cheeks, pink as a wild Nootka rose, sprinkled with flecks of dandelion pollen and forest loan? A bevy of eggs, freshly gathered from beneath warm and fluffy feathers, yolks as orange as the setting sun? A young girls’ own fertile moon, washing down through copper pipes, copper scented, back to the earth’s deep core? Mewling kittens, strong yet weak, pushing, pulling, climbing, seeking out a milky teet? Or the heady, earthy scent of fresh turned compost, worms and roots and pupae and microbes and magic combined? The snores of hardworking man, boots discarded in the gathering dusk, as he falls asleep smelling of diesel, leather, earth and musk? A wilting wildflower posy, gathered yesterday under a misty sky, crushed between dimpled baby fingers, carried, dangling at my hip, over land, meadow, forest and fenn, brought home and plunked in a jar of cool well water, pollen falling, creating a galaxy on our worn, hand-me-down wooden table
Each tiny moment an offering, a prayer. Our simple beckoning to Maiden Spring, come hither darling, stay for tea, for supper and wake together for morning coffee, again and again and again✨✨